Pandemonium
by CynicalArchangel
Summary: An SPN/Constantine Crossover. Dean Winchester is known throughout all realms as someone nobody messes with. However, when Heaven and Hell stop playing by the set rules, he's forced back into the game... and faces the threat of an Apocalypse. Destiel/Sabriel Warnings/Rating are labeled every chapter.


AN: This is the second thing I've written after years of working solely on drawing, so I'm probably really rusty. I love constructive criticism though!

Pairings: Destiel, Sabriel, some brief mentions of others.

Rating (for this chapter): T

Warnings (for this Chapter): Violence, blood, slight gore, swearing, mentions of torture.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The short-haired brunette made his way down the damp, stale hallway, frowning when drops from the leaking pipes above began to stain his brown leather jacket. '_I just bough__t__ this..._' he groused internally, absently pulling the clip from the handgun he held poised in front of him to double-check how many bullets were left. Six. Good enough.

The demons in the area were simple grunts; low-grade bottom-feeders to the likes of Dean Winchester... but still illegal. He was growing tired of their increasing frequency, but niggling worry laced it. _They were illegal. _Which meant that Hell was no longer playing by the rules. Which also meant that if grunts were coming through, then how long would it be for the elite decide to have a go at the world?

He didn't have time to sit and dwell on the issue at the moment however, as a quiet metallic noise alerted him to the presence of a nearby demon. Snapping the clip back in quietly and checking the silencer on the muzzle, he chanced a quick peek around the corner before pulling back against the cold concrete wall. It looked like there was only one guarding this hallway. His mind took a moment to supply that the demons were taking him lightly... and that quickly put him in a fouler mood then he had started with when he showed up.

Muttering something under his breath, he pushed himself off the wall and darted around the corner, raising the handgun and pulling the trigger once. With a brief flash of light, the right side of the demon's head exploded in a small cloud of red before toppling over the guard rail along the metal walkway. Dean didn't hesitate and didn't spare it a glance as he passed by, running stealthily down the hall until he hit the next corner. He didn't have time to stop and admire his own handiwork.

"... - little shit."

Managing to catch the tail-end of someone speaking, Dean didn't take the same chance to peek around this corner. He waited.

"You know he's not going to bother coming for some broken little half-breed pet?" The voice spat, rage seeping from every word spoken.

Dean couldn't help but smirk. If this was the area he was looking for, then he knew exactly why the demon was pissed, and he preened with pride. As if on queue, another voice followed after. This one spoke with insecurity laced with distaste.

"You sound concerned."

A sharp hiss rent the air, before a loud crack followed. Dean could guess what that meant; the smart-ass comment hadn't been appreciated. Still, he found his lips tugging into an amused smile before he let his body relax and took a step around the corner. The gun twirled in his hand a couple of times as he let the smile grow into his signature cocky smirk; this was all Dean Winchester's show now.

"Hi there."

Two pairs of eyes whirled to catch onto the nearly-sauntering human as he approached them. Two demons, arguing in one of the larger warehouse rooms filled with rusty discarded scrap metal. But it wasn't the two standing that his eyes had locked onto the moment he turned the corner. Near the far wall and huddled against a broken car door, his so-called 'pet' lay unconscious and bloody. In the five-second span of time from his turn around the corner and the walk to stand before the demons, the Winchester had assessed the wounds on the unconscious form and the hint of a moving chest.

Alive, but barely breathing. It was likely that there was severe damage to the ribs and a broken leg by the odd angle of the left shin and the unconscious lean to the right. But the other man was alive, and Dean wanted to keep it that way. Before either of the two demons could pull a weapon or even speak, the silencer on the handgun rammed itself into the jaw of the first demon; a crunch signaling the break of the bone while Dean's free hand clamped itself tightly around the neck of the one still standing.

"So, I don't really have a lot of time to hang around here. I'm sure you understand. So let's just get this over with; you know who I am, right?"

The demon on the ground howled out in pain, garbling incoherently as he struggled to right himself. Blood poured from between his lips. Vaguely, Dean realized he'd forced the thing to bite off its own tongue. His gaze darted to the other, eyebrow raising in clear and obvious question. He was the only one who could talk, now.

"Yes..." It still held enough dignity to sneer at Dean, despite the ever-dwindling ability to breath and the warm muzzle of the silencer that now rested against its temple.

"Good. So then you know who _that _is, right?" He pulled the gun away, to wave it briefly at the huddled form that the two demons had beaten bloody earlier.

Seeing where this conversation was going, the demon's eyes widened fractionally, and it finally had the sense to begin squirming as fear crept it's way into the creature's tainted veins. "Y-yes."

Nodding once and briefly, Dean made sure his peripheral never lost the writhing demon on the floor while his stare remained on the one in his hold.

"Who is he?"

The demon winced.

Dean's grip tightened, and the human-like body in his grip floundered a bit as it struggled for air.

"A h-half-bree-"

The hammer clicked back. It was an unnecessary action, but one that was meant to drive home a point. It was highly effective. The demon back-tracked its words immediately, eyes darting around as it tried to remember the name that accompanied the bloody figure.

"S-Sam Winchester."

"Good. So..." Rolling his shoulders, Dean let his gun-hand swipe to the side in a quick, effortless action as he shot the miserable demon on the floor. The bullet flashed brightly as it drove through the creature's forehead and exploded out the back with a quiet 'chink' off of the concrete below. The demon still in his grip paled when the wound didn't simply heal over as was normal for demons when shot by human-made bullets.

Blood began to pool underneath the rapidly-cooling body. Forest-green eyes that burned with an almost unnatural light darted back to the now-alone demon, and the muzzle returned to its temple.

"Do you want to tell me why the fuck you thought it was smart to touch what's mine?"


End file.
